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M£ARON( 
BALLADS 

T.A.DALY 




Class 

Book '. 

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CQEflSIGHT DEPOSm 



McARONI BALLADS 



BY THE SAME AUTHOR 

CARMINA 

CANZONI 

MADRIGALI 

SONGS OF WEDLOCK 




'trJhnf^r - ,,,.-, 



Ruhicam Road 



Page 8i 



McARONI BALLADS 

AND 

OTHER VERSES 



BY 

T. A. DALY 



Frontispiece by 
HERBERT PULLINGER 



m 



NEW YORK 

HARCOURT, BRACE AND HOWE 

1919 



V 



.i> v^■' 



COPYRIGHT, 1 91 9, BY 
HARCOURT, BRACE AND HOWE, INC. 



m 22 1919 



THE QUINN 81 BODEN COMPANY 
RAHWAY N J 



©CI.A5366G8 



tJU 



THE MEMORY OF 
JOYCE KILMER 



ARGUMENT 

TX/f y title has a foreign look; 
1 VJ. The sort of Latin label 
One might expect upon a hook 

Devoted to the table. 
Yet '^ Macaroni'^ 's come to be 

A word of many meanings, 
(One Noah Webster, LL.D., 

Explains its Yankee leanings) 
And some of these, I think, will fit 

The facts and personages 
My puny pipings cause to Hit 

Among these printed pages. 

If, still, you deem my plain intent 

Too delicately subtle, 
I've yet another argument 

To offer in rebuttal: 
Since these my verses scarce may claim 

Much share of fame or boodle, 
But merely aim to laud the name 

Of Mr. Yankee Doodle, 
May I — whose Pegasus, mayhap, 

Like his, is but a pony — 
Not stick a feather in my cap^ 

Andcallit McAroni? 



CONTENTS 



PAOB 

FOR goodness' sakM 3 

THE SECOND COMING 5 

DA FINE ITALIAN HAND ..... 7 

FLAG O' MY LAND . . . . . . lO 

DA FLUTE EEN SPREENG . . . . . 12 

ON A MARCH MORNING ..... I4 

MARCHA-MONTH I5 

A " TITANIC " MOTHER . . . . . 1 7 

SO GLAD FOR SPREENG . . . . . . 1 9 

GOOD FRIDAY — 1917 21 

APRIL . . .23 

RAVIOLI 24 

THE CONSTANT POET 26 

G. SCALABRARTA — FINANCIER . . . . 28 

BALLADE OF THE TEMPTING BOOK . . . 3 1 

DA wheestlin' barber 33 

A LITTLE KERRY SONG 36 

DA VERRA LEETLA BABY 38 

A VALENTINE * 4O 

LEETLA GIUSEPPINA 42 

BALLADE OF THE STRANGE WORD ... 44 

CHERRY PIE 46 

EEN COURT 47 

THE MARINE 50 

vii 



viii CONTENTS 

PAGE 

DA JOB DAT RAN AWAY 53 

THE MAN AT THE TURNPIKE BAR • • • 55 

AT A HALL-ROOM WINDOW 57 

TWO DAYS 59 

DA FARMER 6l 

TO A LITTLE GIRL OF FIVE 63 

THE SEA EAGLES OF COLUMBIA .... 64 

DA QUEENA BEE 66 

WHAT THE FARMER SAW 69 

THE SIX-0*CLOCK RUSH 7I 

THE CHILDLESS WOMAN . . . • . 73 

IN A SLEEPER, ID A.M * • 75 

DA WISA CHILD *jy^ 

PITY THE POOR POET 79 

TO IGNACE PADEREWSKI 80 

RUBICAM ROAD 81 

TO A BEREAVED MOTHER 84 

FOR OLD LOVERS 86 

THE LOVE-SONG 87 

WHEN THE MISSUS COOKS 90 

RICHES .92 

SINGLE PHILOSOPHY 93 

THE ACE TO HIS QUEEN 95 

THE CAGED BIRD .97 

CIDER 99 

WISHES lOI 

IN PRAISE OF SCRAPPLE IO3 

PLEASURES OF THE POOR I06 

THE FAT MAN YEARNS I08 

DA LEETLA DOCTOR IIO 



CONTENTS ix 

PAGE 

A SONG FOR NOVEMBER . . . . . 112 

TO A SANDWICHMAN II3 

FIRESIDE DREAMS . . . . . . . II4 

SINCE PATSY shea's A SCOUT . . . .1X6 

FORTISSIMO . .119 

APPLYING THE SERMON 121 

ALONG THE WISSAHICKON 124 

DA POSTA CARD FROM NAPOLI . . . . I26 

SONG OF THE SCUTTLE ...... I28 

IN FRANCE 131 

THE TREASURE BOX I34 

DA VOICE DA GERMANS MEESSED . . . . I36 

ROSA's CURIOSITY I4O- 

IN PRAISE OF ST. STEPHEN .... I42 

DA PUP EEN DA SNOW I44 

TO AN AUTHOR 147 

ONE OF US 148 

TO A RICH MAN , . I49 



McARONI BALLADS 



FOR GOODNESS' SAK'! 

"T7NOR goodness' sakM " She say to me — 

X/ Dees girl, dees Angela Mari' 
Dat soon my wife ees gona be — 
" Bayfore I go for leeve weeth you, 
You gotta habit, you mus' br'ak; 
Dees swearin' talk eet weell not do, 
For goodness' sak' ! " 

" For goodness' sak' ! eefs mak' me sad," 
She say, " for hear you speak so bad." 
An' I say, " Wal, w'en I am mad, 
I feel eef I no swear a few 

Dat som'theeng sure ees gotta br'ak; 
So w'at da deuce I gona do. 
For goodness' sak'? " 

" ' For goodness' sak' ! * dat's joosta w'at 
You oughta say w'en you are hot ! " 
She say; " So promise you weell not 
Mak' swear words now for seexa week. 
Or you can tak' your presents back! 
Here's strongest langwadge you must 
speak : 
' For goodness' sak' ! ' " 
3 



McARONI BALLADS 



For goodness' sak' I'm tonga-tied, 
So dat she weell be satisfied, 
Dees girl dat gona be my bride ; 

But you, you guys dat know me — Wal! 

I hope dat you weell not meestak* 
What I am theenkin' w'en I yal: 
" For goodness' sak' ! " 



McARONI BALLADS 



THE SECOND COMING 

(A Lincoln's Birthday fancy, 1917) 

CLUTCHING their bosomed wealth, they 
made their cry : 
" Oh, that our Lincoln's strong, unbending 
frame 
Might loom against this wild, war-crimsoned 
sky!*' . . . 
And Lincoln came. 

He was as when he lived, the quaint and queer 
Rough casket of the living heart of gold. 

" And these," he thought, ** save they no 
longer sneer. 
Are as of old." 

But they, with lifted faces all aflame, 

Beheld their hopes new blossoming and 
cried : 

" We have no leaders worthy of the name; 
Be thou our guide! " 



McARONI BALLADS 



He bent on them his cryptic smile once more; 

He gave them timely truth in rough-hewn 
jests 
And laid accusing finger on the sore 

In their own breasts. 

And all his words Pride's ancient armor found, 
And all his words rebuilt dismantled years, 

For lo! the faces circling him around 
Grew dark with sneers. 



McARONI BALLADS 



DA FINE ITALIAN HAND 

JOE GESSAPALENA can't write hees own 
name, 
But he can write othra theengs, justa da same ; 
An' mebbe you, too, 
Bayfore he ees through, 
Weell read w'at he's wrote an' be glad dat he 
came. 

You see, eet ees verra good theeng for dees 

Joe 
He com' to dees countra so long time ago, 
Bayfore dey baygeen dese new eemigrant laws 
Dat mak' you know readin* an' writin', bay- 
cause 
Da 'Merican story he's makin' to-day 
Ees justa wrote down een a deefferent way. 
Eh? Pleassa, my frand, I'll esplain, eef you 

wait! K 
You evva been up een Conne'tica State 
An' see dose ole farms dat's so full weetha 
stone 



8 McARONI BALLADS 

Dat mos' evra farmer ees leavin' alone, 
Baycause dey ain't fit for nobody to own? 
Wal, Joe he ees buy wan o' dem lasta year 
An' now he ees doin' som' writin' up dere; 
An' even hees firsta year's work was so 

good 
He sure ees da talk for da whole neighbor- 
hood ! 
You no ondrastand? O! my frand, you are 

slow ! 
Wal, he weell esplain eet. So speaka dees 

Joe: 
" I write weeth no pen, but I taka my hoe 
An' I use eet so wal weeth my stronga right 

han' 
Dat I write, een Italian, all over dees Ian' 
All da treecks I have learned, all da theengs 

dat I know 
Dat weell charma da plants an' jus' maka dem 

grow! 
But — O! here now ees com' da mos' wondra- 

ful theeng! — 
Dough I write on my fields een Italian een 

spreeng. 
You can read, een da summer, all over my Ian' 



McARONI BALLADS 



Soocha message da harvest speaks, plain 

*Merican, 
Even dose dat mak' laws mebbe might ondra- 

stanM" 

Joe Gessapalena can't write hees own name, 
But he can write othra theengs, justa da same; 
An' mebbe you, too, 
Bayfore he ees through, 
Weell read w'at he's wrote an' be glad dat he 
came. 



10 McARONI BALLADS 



FLAG O* MY LAND 

UP to the breeze of the morning I fling 
you, 
Blending your folds with the dawn in the 
sky; 
There let the people behold you, and bring 
you 
Love and devotion that never shall die. 
Proudly, agaze at your glory, I stand, 
Flag o* my land! flag o* my land! 

Standard most glorious! banner of beauty! 
Whither you beckon me there will I go. 
Only to you, after God, is my duty; 
Unto no other allegiance I owe. 

Heart of me, soul of me, yours to com- 
mand, 
Flag o* my land! flag o' my land! 

Pine to palmetto and ocean to ocean. 
Though of strange nations we get our in- 
crease. 

Here are your worshipers one in devotion. 
Whether the bugles blow battle or peace. 



McARONI BALLADS ii 

Take us and make us your patriot band, 
Flag o' my land! flag o* my land! 

Now to the breeze of the morning I give you 

Ah ! but the days when the staff will be bare ! 

Teach us to see you and love you and live you 

When the light fades and your folds are not 

there. 

Dwell in the hearts that are yours to 

command, 
Flag o* my land! flag o' my land! 



12 McARONI BALLADS 



DA FLUTE EEN SPREENG 

DERE was a time w*en I could shoot 
Profess' Agrandinallo, 
For dat he played upon da flute 
All nighta long hees '' toot! toot! toot! " 
An' made a seeckness een my head 
Wen I was layin' een my bed. 
O! manny, manny time I swore 
Wen he was livin' nexta door — 
Dat crazy music- fallow ! 

Wan day een March, wan happy day. 

Profess' Agrandinallo 
He took hees theengs an' moved away 
Where I no more could hear heem play. 
Ah! den da nights was full with sleep. 
So beautiful, so long an' deep! 
An* I was glad dat nevva more 
I gona hear heem nexta door — 

Dat crazy music-fallow ! 



McARONI BALLADS 13 

But, ah ! my frand, I deed not feel 
How mooch, how mooch I meesed heem. 
How dear hees music was, onteell 
Las' night beside my weendow-seell, 
From somVhere far off down da street, 
I heard hees flute so soft an* sweet! 
O ! my, eet made my heart so glad 
Dat was so lonely an' so sad 
I justa coulda keesed heem! 



14 McARONI BALLADS 



ON A MARCH MORNING 

THERE'S a tulip in this air 
Last night never knew; 
Strange, faint perfume's everywhere. 

'Round the dawn's gates, too, 
Cloudy curtains stir, and lo! 

Rosy-flushed are they. 
Trembling with the joy to know 
God has passed this way. 



McARONI BALLADS 15 



MARCHA-MONTH 

HERE ees com' da time of year 
Best of all! 
Lika trumpet een my ear 

Ees eets call. 
Lika trumpet far away 
First I hear eet yestaday 

W*en a weend dat's sailed da sea 
Com* along dees street to me 
And eet touch my hair an' say : 
"I am here!" 

Now ees com' da time of year 

I should seeng; 
Far Italian scenes so near 

Eet can breeng. 
Home, een March-month, I could go 
Where ees steell da mountain snow 
Findin' on da sunny side 
Of som' feeg-tree, where dey hide, 
Violets dat cry : " Hallo ! 

We are here ! " 



i6 McARONI BALLADS 

Here ees com* dat time of year; 

But no note 
Of da song dat once was dear 

Feells my throat. 
Ah! eef only now, to-day, 
She dat's verra far away — 
Farther dan Italian shore — 
Comin' weeth da Spreeng once more, 
Joost could touch my hand an' say : 

*'l am here!" 



McARONI BALLADS 17 



A TITANIC MOTHER 



OCH ! 'tis come again, April, the same fine 
air 
Breathin' in from the sea — 
An' the lad inunder it still, somewhere, 

That was born o' me — 
Let them wag their heads, for 'tis little I care 
What they do be sayin', that think me quare — 
An* why wouldn't I be? 

O! my grief that my flesh that was his flesh, 
too, 
Should withhold me from him ! 
But I know what my soul, when it's free, will 
do. 
It will dive an' swim 
To the cold sea-caves where I'll find my 

Hugh— 
Where the quality lies all one with the crew — 
And I'll comfort him. 



i8 McARONI BALLADS 

t — — — 

Sure, I'd know him twenty times twelve 
months dead, 

For he's bone o' my bone — 
An' what way would my soul be comforted 

In God's heaven alone? — 
He will lie with his right arm under his head, 
But there's never another could find his bed 

But his mother — his own. 

An' why wouldn't I hear him call from the 
deep 
On this April morn? 
Sure, I've felt his call, and myself asleep 

An' himself unborn ! 
An' they do be sayin' that quare things creep 
From the depths o' the sea when the spring 
tides leap 
Of an April morn. 



McARONI BALLADS 19 



SO GLAD FOR SPREENG 

EEF somebody com' to-day 
To dees fruita-stan' an' say: 
" Wa't? Banana two for fi'? 
Seems to me dat's verra high ! " 
I would look up een da sky 
Where da sun ees shine so bright, 
An' da clouds so sof an' white 
Sail like boats I use' to see 
Een da bay at Napoli; 
An' so softa theeng I am, 
I would notta care a dam 
Eef da customer should be 
Sly enough for taka three ! 
Eef like dat you com* to-day 
Mebbe so I justa say: 
" See da Tony McAroni ! 

He ees verra lazy thing, 
Wat da deuce he care for money? 
Here ees com' da spreeng! " 

Eef to-day I had a wife 

An' she say: " My love! my Ufe! 



20 McARONI BALLADS 

I mus* have fi'-dollar note 
For da new spreeng hat an* coat," 
Theenk I gona grab her throat, 
Bang her head agains' da wall? 
Eh! To-day? Oh, not at all! 
She would look so pretta dere 
Weeth da sunshine on her hair, 
I would look at her, an* den 
I would tal her: " Taka ten!" 
Eef I had a wife to-day 
I am sure dat I would say: 

"All right, Mrs. McAroni, 
I am verra softa theeng. 

Wat de deuce I care for money? 
Here ees com' da spreeng! " 



McARONI BALLADS 21 



GOOD FRIDAY— 1917 

THE die is cast for war! 
So be it then ! 
And in the deep heart's core 

Of earnest men 
An augury of good 
For human brotherhood 
Through spilth of guiltless blood 
Is born again. 

With honor, scorning loss. 

Or blame or praise, 
The nation lifts its cross 

This day of days; 
And under war-lit skies, 
Unto His patient eyes 
It dares, all reverent-wise, 

Its own to raise. 

The storm-wrack blots the sun. 

So be it then ! 
For God, when all is done. 

Shall reign again. 



22 McARONI BALLADS 

From all that horror dreamed, 
From good that evil seemed 
Shall rise a world redeemed! 
Amen ! Amen ! 



McARONI BALLADS 23 



APRIL 

HERE comes April ! filmy-fair, 
Green of cap and kirtle, 
Silver dew-drops in her hair 
And a sprig of myrtle. 

Here comes April up the land, 

Irish as Killarney, 
Subject to no man's command, 

Proof against his blarney. 

Smiles or tears she wears at will; 

Often she's " desateful," 
But what gifts she's pleased to spill 

Take them and be grateful! 

No directing mortal hands 
Touch this quaint equation; 

She is Irish, and demands 
Self-determination. 



24 McARONI BALLADS 



RAVIOLI 

SIGNOR DEL VECCHIO, dees ees for 
you, 
Also your partner, Signor Magazzu. 

Nevva bayfore have I soocha dalight, 
Nevva sooch fina good eatin* has been 
Stucka so playnta eensida my skeen 

Like een your restaurant Saturday night! 

Dere was som' seelly old Irishman dere, 

Fat an' so beeg lika frog een hees chair, 
Stuffin' hees stummick weeth soup an' weeth 

bread, 
Teell you gon' theenk he would bust an' be 

dead. 
No, but he don't; he ees steell on da job, 
Eatin* da feesh an' da — how-you-call? — 

" squab." 
Porco ! Dat's only kind food he can see ; 
Geeve heem hees skeenaful — so, lat heem 

be- 
But, " RavioH " ! Ah ! dat's for me ! 



McARONI BALLADS 25 

Paste for da noodle rolled out teell eet's 

theen, 
Fine tendra cheecken cut up to put een; 
Put dem togethra — so, presto ! — an' mak' 
Beautiful, reech leetla cracker or cak'. 
Den you weell cook for da sauce upon dese 
Mushroom, tomat' an' da fine Roma cheese. 
Breeng dem to table so hot as can be; 
Breeng dem more playnta, more playnta! 

Oh, gee! 
Dat's " Ravioli " an' dats'a for me ! 

Signor del Vecchio, healtha for you ! 
Also your partner, Signor Magazzu. 

Nevva bayfore have I soocha dalight, 
Nevva sooch beautiful eatin' has been 
Stucka so playnta eensida my skeen 

Like een your restaurant Saturday night ! 



26 McARONI BALLADS 



THE CONSTANT POET 

ONCE more, my muse, 'tis time to be in- 
voking 
The offices of good St. Valentine. 
This year 'tis Phyllis' name that I am yoking 
In verse with mine. 

Last year it was a ballad to Miranda, 
The year before a triolet to Dot. 

No doubt I seem a fickle goose — or gander — 
But I am not. 

I hesitate to contemplate the number 

Of female names I've fashioned to my 
rhyme. 
Whene'er I rouse my weary muse from 
slumber 
About this time. 

I've breathed my love for Dolly, Grace and 
Cora; 
In other years I've run to Nell and Belle. 
How many times I've yearned for Bess and 
Dora 
I cannot tell. 



McARONI BALLADS 27 

Now in the charms of Phyllis I am basking, 
And all the love I bear her must be told. 

For if it's not, my Mary will be asking 
If IVe grown cold. 

The secret's out! The name's imaginary; 

I never knew a " Phyllis " in my life. 
All names are merely pseudonyms for 
" Mary," 

And she's my wife. 



28 McARONI BALLADS 



G. SCALABRARTA, FINANCIER 

GIUSEPPE SCALABRART 
He's gotta huckster-cart 
Dat he ees push.aroun' 
Da streets een deesa town, 
Wherevra dere's enough 
To buy hees fruit an' stuff. 
But wan day een hees cart 
Dees fallow Scalabrart' 
Ees carry, for a change, 
A load dat's verra strange. 

Here ees da way of eet: 
Dere's lady een wan street 
Dat owe heem seexty cent. 
An' act so like she meant 
She nevva gona pay ; 
An' she's gon' move away, 
For on da house wan day 
He see a sign dat say : 
" Dees Property For Sell." 
Giuseppe reeng da bell, 



McARONI BALLADS 29 

An' w*en she com' he say: 
" My seexty cent; you pay 
Eef mebbe so I find 
Som'body dat'sa mind 
For buy da house from you? " 
She laugh an', " Eef you do," 
She say, " an' I can gat 
My price — four thousan' flat — 
I pay your beell on sight." 
Giuseppe say : " All right." 



Eet's nexta morna w'en 
He reeng da bell agen; 
Da lady com' an' say: 
" I want no fruit to-day." 
But he say: " Waita, pleass! 
Dese fruits no grow on trees; 
Com', lady, looka dese!" 
Den een hees cart he shows — 
Now, w'at you gon' su'pose? — 
Een undra pile of rags 
Ees old teen cans an' bags. 
An' dere ees som' of dese 
Dat's full weeth ten-cent piece; 



so McARONI BALLADS 

An' some weeth neeckels, too, 
An' pennies; an' a few 
Weeth feefty, twanty-fi', 
An' som' got notes so high 
As fi', ten-dollar beell! 
He say : " Now, eef you weell, 
Pleas', lady, be so kind 
To count all dese, you'll find 
Four thousan' dollar here — 
No, notta quite, but near — 
You see, I hate Hke hal 
For losin' w'at you owe, 
Dat seexty cent, you know. 
And so I theenk eet wal 
For buy da house mysal'." 



McARONI BALLADS 31 



BALLADE OF THE TEMPTING BOOK 

SOMETIMES when I sit down at night 
And try to think of something new. 
Some odd conceit that I may write 
And work into a verse or two, 
There often dawns upon my view, 
The while my feeble thoughts I nurse, 
A little book in gold and blue — 

'' The Oxford Book of EngUsh Verse." 

And though I try, in wild affright 

At thought of all I have to do, 
To keep that volume out of sight. 

If I so much as look askew 

I catch it playing peek-a-boo. 

Then work may go to — pot, or worse! 
I'm giving up the evening to 

'' The Oxford Book of English Verse." 

O ! some for essays recondite, 
And some for frothy fiction sue, 

But give to me for my delight 

One tuneful tome to ramble through; 



32 McARONI BALLADS 

To hear the first quaint " Sing Cuccu ! ' 
And all those noble songs rehearse 
Whose deathless melodies imbue 

" The Oxford Book of English Verse." 

L'Envoi 

Kind Reader, here's a tip for you : 
Go buy, though skinny be your purse 

And other books of yours be few, 

" The Oxford Book of English Verse." 



McARONI BALLADS 33 



DA WHEESTLIN' BARBER 

LAS' night you hear da op'ra? 
J Eef you was uppa stair 
An* eef you know Moralli 

You mebbe saw heem dere. 
Moralli? He's a barber, 

But verra bright an' smart, 
An' crazy for da op'ra; 

He knows dem all by heart. 
He's alia tima wheestlin'. 

An' often you can find 
Jus' from da tune he wheestles 

Wat thoughts ees een hees mind. 
Eef you would ask a question, 

Da answer you would gat 
Ees notheeng but som' music — 

Ha! w'at you theenk of dat? 

Xas' week hees wife, Lucia — 
Fine woman, too, is she — 

She gave to heem som' babies. 
Not only wan, but three! 



34 McARONI BALLADS 

Eef to your shop som' neighbors 

Should breeng sooch news to you 
Eet sure would jus' excite you 

To say a word or two; 
But deesa Joe Moralli, 

Dees music-crazy loon, 
He never stopped hees wheestlin' — 

But justa changed hees tune. 
Dees answer from hees music 

Was all dat dey could gat: 
" Trio from * Trovatore/ " 

Ha! w'at you theenk of dat? 

He nevva stopped hees wheestlin* 

Dat " Trovatore " tune, 
Not even w'en he's dreenkin' 

Weeth frauds een da saloon. 
He wheestled eet dat evenin' 

Wen home he went to see 
Hees granda wife, Lucia, 

An' leetla babies three. 
But w'en he stood bayfore dem 

He was so full weeth dreenk. 
He looked upon dose babies 

An' wheestle — Wat you theenk? 



McARONI BALLADS 35 

O! den da tune he wheestled 

Was — how-you-call-eet? — " pat : " 

" Sextetta from Lucia." 

Ha! w'at you theenk of dat? 



36 McARONI BALLADS 



A LITTLE KERRY SONG 

THERE'S grand big girls that walks 
the earth, 
An' some that's gone to glory, 
That have been praised beyond their 
worth 
To live in song and story. 
O ! one may have the classic face 

That poets love to honor, 
An' still another wear the grace 

O' Venus' self upon her; 
Some tall an' stately queens may be. 

An' some be big an' merry — 
Och ! take them all, but leave for me 
One little girl from Kerry ! 

Sure, Kerry is a little place. 

An' everything's in keepin' : 
The biggest heroes of the race 

In little graves are sleepin'; 
An' little cows give little crame, 

Fur little fairies take it; 
An' little girls think little shame 

To take a heart an' break it. 



McARONI BALLADS 37 

Och! here's a little Kerry lad 
That would be O ! so merry, 

If but your little heart he had, 
O ! little girl from Kerry ! 



38 McARONI BALLADS 



DA VERRA LEETLA BABY 

IRISH Padre Tommeeckbride 
Laughed an' laughed onteell he cried. 
Always he ees do dat way 
At mos* evra theeng I say. 
Ees no matter w'at I spoke, 
He would tak* eet for a joke ; 
Eet's a shame to tease a man 
Wen he do da best he can! 

Now, for eenstance, yestaday 
Dere's a chrees'nin' down our way; 
Eef s a baby calF " Carlotf " 
Dat my cousin Rosa's got. 
O! so small, jus' two weeks old — 
Een wan handa you could hold! 
Wal, I am da wan dat stand 
For dees leetla child, my fraud — 
How you call een deesa land? 
" Godda-father? " Yes, dat's me! 
Wal, w'en all ees done, you see, 
An* da child ees bapatize'. 
Padre Tommeeckbride, he cries: 



McARONI BALLADS 39 

" Evrabody com* dees way. 

We must write eet down," he say. 

While he's writin' een da book, 
From my pocket here I took 
Twenta-fi'-cent piece, my frand. 
An* I put eet een hees hand. 
" Thanks ! " he say, an* smiles at me. 
Den Bianca Baldi, she — 
While da padre looks at eet — 
Wheespers: " Dat*s a leetle beet! " 
" Sure,** I tal her, " dat'sa true. 
But da baby*s leetla, too.** 

Irish Padre Tommeckbride 
Laughed an* laughed onteell he cried. 
Always he ees do dat way 
At mos* evratheeng I say; 
Eet*s a shame to tease a man 
W*en he do da best he can! 



40 McARONI BALLADS 



A VALENTINE 

THERE was a time, when we were young 
together 
And all the thorns of life were yet to seek, 
This day brought roses, in the wintriest 
weather, 
To burn your cheek. 

Oh, not alone the wanton winds that sought 
you 
Were wont your lilies to incarnadine; 
Your roses deepened when the postman 
brought you 
My valentine. 

The words I wrote, my still fond breast re- 
members, 
Were leaping tongues from out a heart of 
fire; 
They breathed, nor have they lost in graying 
embers 
Young love's desire ! 



MgARONI ballads 41 

But now, my dear, this fervent song I sing 
you 

Has holier designs on heaven's wealth; 
I pray this little valentine may bring you 

The rose of health. 



42 McARONI BALLADS 



LEETLA GIUSEPPINA 

JOE BARATTA'S Giuseppina 
She's so cute as she can be; 
Justa com' here from Messina, 

Weeth da resta family. 
Joe had money in da banka — 

He been savin' for a year — 
An' he breeng hees wife, Bianca, 

An' da three small children here. 
First ees baby, Catarina, 

Nexta Paolo (w'at you call 
Een da Inglaice langwadge " Paul "), 
An' da smartest wan of all — 
Giuseppina ! 

Giuseppina justa seven, 

But so smart as she can be; 
Wida-wake at night-time even, 

Dere's so mooch dat's strange to see. 
W'at you theenk ees mos' surprise her? 

No; ees not da buildin's tall; 
Eef, my frand, you would be wisa 

You mus' theenk of som'theeng small. 



McARONI BALLADS 43 

Eet's an ant! Wen first she seena 
Wan o' dem upon da ground, 
How she laughed an* danced around: 
" O ! * Formica/ he has found 
Giuseppina ! " 

"O!" she cried to heem, "Formica" 

(Dat's Italian name for heem), 
" How you gatta here, so queecka? 
For I know you no can sweem; 
An' you was not on da sheepa. 
For I deed not see you dere. 
How you evva mak* da treepa? 

Only birds can fly een air. 
How you gat here from Messina? 
O! at las' I ondrastand! 
You have dugga through da land 
Jus' to find your leetla frand, 
Giuseppina ! ** 



44 McARONI BALLADS 

BALLADE OF THE STRANGE WORD 

(See Webster's Unabridged) 

THESE warm spring days 
When skies are blue 
I yearn for ways 

My youth once knew; 
When cares were few 
And never great, 
Vd nothing do 
But "apricate." 

To-day my gaze 

Meandering through 
What Webster says — 

How language grew! — 

Chance brought to view 
That word ornate. 

Don't " fuss " or " stew," 
But "apricate." 

Small good life pays 

To me or you, 
When worry sways 

The health askew. 



McARONI BALLADS 45 

To reimbue 
With " pep " our state, 

We shouldn't " rue," 
But "apricate." 

UEnvoi 

Ye gods! we sue, 

From morn till late: 
Let's nothing- do 

But " apricate." 



46 McARONI BALLADS 



CHERRY PIE 

O CHERRY pie! A song for thee! 
Let not the crusts close-wedded be. 
But puffed and flaky, plumped with meat, 
And all the red heart dripping sweet 
With luscious oozings syrupy. 

Ah! that's the cherry pie for me! 
I'll want two " helpin's ; " maybe three — 
Who ever got enough to eat 
O' cherry pie? 

What odds if in our dreams we see 
Nightmares and goblins? We'll agree, 
Though Pain usurp Joy's earlier seat. 
No collywobs can quite defeat 
The gustatory pleasures we 
Owe cherry pie. 



McARONI BALLADS 47 



EEN COURT 

1WAS een court wan day las* week. 
An' eet was strange to me. 
I like eet not; steell, I would speak 

Of som'theeng dere I see. 
To you, dat know da court so wal, 

I s'pose eet's notheeng new, 
But you are kind, so lat me tal 
Dees leetla theeng to you: 

Da " Judge " — I theenk dey call heem so- 

Da bossa for da place. 
He's fine, beeg, han'som' man, an* O! 

Sooch kindness een da face. 
Wal, soon dey breeng a prisoner dere, 

A leetla boy; so small 
Dat teell dey stand heem on a chair 

I did not see at all! 
Poof leetla keed, I s'pose he might 

Be tan year old or less; 
I nevva see sooch sorry sight, 

Sooch peecture of deestress. 



48 McARONI BALLADS 

" Dees ees a verra badda child," 

Ees say da bigga cop 
Dat hold hees arm; "he's runna wild, 

An' so I tak' heem up." 
You theenk so smalla keed like dat 

Would cry, for be so scare' ; 
But no, he tweest hees ragged hat 

An' justa nevva care. 
Den speaks da Judge, an' O! so sweet, 

Like music ees hees voice. 
He tals heem how da ceety street 

Ees notta place for boys. 
At first da boy looks roun' da place, 

So like he nevva heard, 
But soon he watch da Judge's face 

An' dreenks een evra word. 
" My child, would you not like to go 

Where dere ees always food, 
A gooda home, where you may grow 

For be da man you should?" 
Da boy mak's swallers een hees throat 

As eef he try to speak. 
But no wan near could hear a note, 

Hees voice eet was so weak. 



McARONI BALLADS 49 

" Eh? Wat was dat? " da Judge he said. 

"Wat deed you say, my dear?" 
An' den he leaned hees han'som' head 

Down close to heem to hear. 
I s'pose da boy's so strange, so wild, 

He deed not ondrastand; 
He only knew dat Judge so mild 

Was sure to be hees fraud. 
An* so hees skeenny arms reached out — 

He deed not try to speak — 
But, leeftin' up hees leetla mout' 

He keessed heem on da cheek! 

O! hal, my fraud, don't be ashame* 

For w'at ees een your eye! 
Weeth me, weeth all, eet was da same, 

We could not halp but cry; 
Not tears for dat we was so sad. 

But for da joy to find 
A leetla boy dat was so glad, 

A man dat was so kind ! 



50 McARONI BALLADS 



THE MARINE 

IN assorted shades of green 
You have painted The Marine, 
And a deal of yarns about him you've been spin- 
ning; 
He has much to say to you 
Of his red and white and blue, 
So he'd like to have your ear and take his inning : 

''Back of Freedom's earliest glimmer, 

When the night was never dimmer, 
^And before the light of hope upon the mountain 
top was shed. 

There were men whose steel Hashed splendid 

When the long black night was ended 
^And the sun looked in upon them Wound the Nch 
tion's trundle bed; 

And in that electric air, 

With the laurel in our hair. 
We Colonial Marines, of the victor forces deans. 

We were there! 

When the ships of Jones and Barry 
Sallied gayly forth to harry 



McARONI BALLADS 51 

And to take the proudest vaunters of the British 
navy's might, 
When that most helov'd commander 
To the foe's demand *' Surrender I '' 
Made his lion-hearted answer, " We have fust 
begun to fight! " 
Who were first and most to dare 
In the battle lantern's glare? 
We, as landsmen or as tars, still the myrmidons 
of Mars, 
We were there! 

In those sailing ships of wonder. 
When, with taffrail seething under. 
From the gun-decks came the thunder of a broad- 
side dealing woe; 
And with Perry, Hull — and later — 
With the dashing young Decatur, 
In the war wherein no waters saw our yielding 
to the foe. 
We were not denied our share 
Of the battle joy so rare; 
For the easing of our spleens, we amphibious 
Marines, 
We were there! 



52 McARONI BALLADS 

Out of iron ships were hollowed 
In the leaping years that followed, 
And they've changed the style of fighting , hut 
they haven't changed the men; 
Shall we, first of Yankee yeomen 
To repel those ancient foemen, 
Let an ocean stay our vengeance, if it failed to 
stay it then? 
Nay, in France the ever fair 
When Old Glory takes the air. 
The ubiquitous Marine, as becomes the fighting 
dean. 
Will be there! " 
June, 1917 



McARONI BALLADS 53 



DA JOB DAT RAN AWAY 

NOT evra Dagoman like me 
Can find hees place een deesa Ian*. 
Som', sure, must disappointa be; 
But worst of all you evva see 
Ees Vinci, da Venetian. 

You see, dees Vinci had a frand 
Dat com' las' year to deesa land 
An' gotta job out West, you know, 
Dat suit heem verra wal; an' so 
He sant hees folks back home wan day 
A peecture posta-card dat say: 
" Here's work for all, an' gooda pay ! " 
"Ah!" cries dees Vinci, w'en he see 
Da posta-card, " dat's place for me." 
An' just so queeck as eet could be 
He tooka sheep an' cross da sea. 
He deed not stop, he would not rest 
Onteell he's een dat town out West. 
But den — Oh, my, eet mak' you seeck 
To hear da badda words he speak. 



54 McARONI BALLADS 

" Dat damma posta-card ! " he cry, 
" Eet was a lie! eet was a lie! 
I nevva see a town so dry!" 
Oh, sure, eet was a shame, my frand. 
Eh? w'at? Oh, don't you ondrastand? 
Dat peecture-card hees frand ees sand 
Was wan dat showed da town w*en eet 
Had playnta water een da street, 
Wen floods was heavy lasta year — 
Yes! Vinci ees a gondolier. 

Not evra Dagoman like me 

Can find hees place een deesa Ian*. 

Som', sure, must disappointa be; 

But worst of all you evva see 
Ees Vinci, da Venetian. 



McARONI BALLADS 55 



"THE MAN AT THE TURNPIKE BAR" 

I WAS fifty-odd year on the Lancaster Pike, 
Takin' the toll, takin' the toll; 
But it's never again I'll be doin' the like, 
Since we've lost the conthrol, lost the con- 
throl. 
An* it's manny a thraveler usin' the road 
Will be glad o' their freedom; ye'd know 
be their laughter now. 
But for all they're so free here's one heart 
wears a load, 
Wid no wish to go on, but to sit an' look 
afther now. 

Oh, the wonders o' Beauty I caught wid me 
eye, 
Takin' the toll, takin' the toll 1 
For to «tand like a king, wid the world 
sthreamin' by. 
Is a feast for the soul, food for the soul. 



56 McARONI BALLADS 

For there wasn^t a day that I stood in that 
place 
But was blessed wid the grace of some 
dacint girl's laughter, now, 
Or the turn of a head or the gleam of a face, 
That I'll often an' often be glad to look 
afther now! 

Never again will I stand, d'ye mind, 

Takin' the toll, takin' the toll; 
Ah! but the Beauty I've seen is still kind, 

An' it's food for my soul, food for my soul. 
Pick the two eyes from my head, if you will, 

Faith, ye can't rob me o' fifty years' laugh- 
ter, now; 
No! nor of takin' my toll from them still, 

All the dear roads that I sit an' look afther, 
now! 



McARONI BALLADS 57 



AT A HALL-ROOM WINDOW 

SHE lives in the Square below me there. 
Ah ! me, if she'd only love me. 
But she walks abroad with her head in the 
air 

Supremely oblivious of me. 
Time was when the Square was queenly, too, 

Ere Commerce, changing old orders. 
Found a foothold here for the parvenu, 

For shops, for us bachelor boarders. 
The house of her fathers, square and brown. 

Grand manse of the olden city. 
Seems looking down on the tawdry town 

With a mixture of scorn and pity. 
This look of her house, austere, aloof, 

Rests now on her high-bred features. 
When she issues forth from beneath her roof 

To walk among meaner creatures. 
I sit at my window under the eaves 

And yearn to be there beside her, 
But a gulf between like the ocean heaves. 

For never a gulf was wider. 



58 McARONI BALLADS 

She lives in the Square below me there — 
Ah! me, if she'd only love me! 

She lives in the Square below me there, 
But moves in a circle above me. 



McARONI BALLADS 59 



TWO DAYS 

OLD Mike Clancy went for a stroll, 
An' warm an' clear was the sky. 
But he came back home with clouds on his 
soul 
An' a glint o' rain in his eye. 

"Och! cold it is out there," sez he; 
" The street's no place these days fur me ; 
Wid motors runnin' through the town 
The way they're like to knock ye down, 
Wid all the rush an' moidherin' noise. 
The impudence of upstart boys. 
An' girls, that walk as bold as brass. 
An' I'ave small room fur ye to pass. 
In twenty blocks, or mebbe more, 
I saw no face I'd seen before, 
Or care, indeed, to see agen! 
Wat's come of all the dacent men. 
The kindly friends, I use' to meet 
In other days upon the street? 
'Tis here at home's the place fur me; 
Och! cold it is out there," sez he. 



6o McARONI BALLADS 

Old Mike Clancy went for a stroll, 
An' cold an' gray was the sky, 

But he came back home with warmth in 
his soul 
An' a gUnt o' sun in his eye. 

" O ! sure, this day was fine," sez he, 
"An' who d'ye think walked up to me? 
A man I thought long dead — Tim Kane! 
Och! didn't we talk, there in the rain, 
The soft, kind rain we use' to know — 
O ! not so very long ago — 
An' didn't we have a dale to say? 
• He's eighty-two years old come May — 
An' I'm no more than sivinty-nine ! 
An' didn't he stan' there straight an' fine? 
It done me good, the look in his eye, 
An' how he laughed an' slapped his thigh; 
* I'm good,' sez he, * fur ten years, too ! ' 
An' faith I do believe it's true. 
A man's as old as he feels, d'ye see? — 
O! sure, this day was fine," sez he. 



McARONI BALLADS 6i 



DA FARMER 

IDON'TA care eef all dees town 
Turn upsi' down, 
An' earth-quake com' along som' day 
An' bust eet up. I gona 'way; 

I won't be dere! 
At last I gona turn my face 
From evratheeng een deesa place. 
I don'ta care. 

I don'ta care for town nohow; 

I'm farmer now! 
I gotta house dat Stan's alone, 
Three leetla rooms — but all my own — 

Wan bed, two chair, 
Wan stove, two table an' wan wife. 
So for dees town, you bat my life, 
^ I don'ta care! 

I don'ta care for ceety street; 
Eet smals not sweet. 



62 McARONI BALLADS 

But now I know how mooch eet's worth 
To own som* leetla cleana earth, 

To own som' air 
Daf s sweet as wine upon da breath — 
Here even eef I starve to death, 

I don'ta care! 



McARONI BALLADS 63 



TO A LITTLE GIRL OF FIVE 

1WISH your eyes might always look 
As big with love as now they seem. 
It cannot be ! Your picture-book, 
Whose leaves we turned together, took 
Away my dream. 

It was the old man on that page 

Who bore the hour-glass and scythe. 

That rude reminder of old age! 

With what a rush of inward rage 
He made me writhe! 

He stirred you, too, to frown and say: 
" The ugly thing! And who is he? " 
" That man, my dear," I said, " some day 
Is going to come and steal away 
Your heart from me." 

"Oh, no!" you said. But it is true; 

Unless in some way we contrive 
To fill that old man's path with glue 
And keep me forty-eight, and you 

Forever five! 



64 McARONI BALLADS 



THE SEA-EAGLES OF COLUMBIA 

Behind him lay the gray Azores ; 

Behind the Gates of Hercules; 
Before him not the ghost of shores, 

Before him only shoreless seas. 

— From Joaquin Miller's " Columbus." 

COLUMBIA'S eagles of the sea 
Arose and took the trackless main; 
They were the first, and they were three — 

As were the caravels of Spain. 
Before them lay the gray Azores, 

Before them night, nor glint of dawn, 
But through the gloom that veiled those 
shores 

They still sailed on, and on, and on! 

The spirit of the Genoese, 

Be sure, was burning in each breast 
In flight across those chartless seas 

Where first his galleons braved the west. 
From out that west now grown so great 

His eagles winged into the dawn, 
And, matching his disdain of fate, 

With courage high, sailed on and on! 



McARONI BALLADS 65 

What joy, what thrill was theirs, to be 

The first through that vast void to fly, 
And, poised above the central sea. 

Meet morning coming up the sky! 
Still toward the sun those eagles flew; 

Two, faltering in the fog, were gone! 
But one, through mists and rifts of blue, 

With dauntless faith sailed on and on. 

A speck on ocean's rim appears! 

It grows! It glistens in the sun. 
The happy eagle swoops and veers 

Along the shore. The goal is won! 

O great and valiant Genoese! 

Thy sons inherit thee! 'Tis done! 
They, too, across thy trackless seas 

Have borne thy slogan : " Sail ! sail on ! " 



66 McARONI BALLADS 



DA QUEENA BEE 

MEESTER, eef you nevva see 
Housa full weeth busy bee, 
Leetla workers an' deir queen, 
I would like for takin' you 
Where I eentroduce you to 
Giacobini's Pasqualin'. 

She ees weedow, Pasqualin*; 
Wen dees fallow Giacobin* 
Dies an' leaves her lasta fall. 
He ain't leave mooch else at all; 
Justa leetla baker-store 
An' seex babies — notheeng more! 
All are girls, dese babies, too; 
Wat da deuce she gona do? 

Wait, my fraud, an' you weell know. 
An' I bat you you could go 
Manny mile bayfore you see 
Soocha house for eendustry. 
Wen her husband up an' die 
She ain't got no time to cry; 



McARONI BALLADS 67 

She must work an' nevva stop. 
Dere's da babies, dere's da shop, 
An' da house dey're leevin' een; 
She mus' keep dem fine an' clean — 
An' da babies happy, too. 
Wat da deuce she gona do? 
Som' day I weell show to you; 
Som' day you mus' go an' see 
How dey play at " Busy Bee." 

Com', su'pose eet ees da day 
Wen at cleanin' house dey play : 
Evra leetla girl weell stan' 
Weeth her leetla brush een han', 
Leetla bucket, leetla broom. 
For to scrub an' sweep da room. 
Den weell say dees Pasqualin' : 
" Leetla bees, I am your queen, 
Wen I geeve da word baygeen; 
Work an' seeng an' follow me. 
Work an' seeng an' lat me see 
Who can be da besta bee!" 

Den dey laugh an' seeng an' go 
Makin' joy weeth labor so 



68 McARONI BALLADS 

Eet ees done bayfore dey know. 
So een all theengs, day by day, 
Makin' work so lika play, 
Pasqualina found da way! 

Com*, den, som* day we weell go, 
An* you weell be proud to know 

Giacobini's Pasqualin' ; 
An* dose leetla busy bee 
Wen dey grow up, you weell see, 

Evra wan hersal' a queen! 



McARONI BALLADS 69 



WHAT THE FARMER SAW 

JOHN D. 
Rockefeller, he 
Seemed as pleased as pleased could be. 
Seen him stop, stoop down an' pass 
Long lean fingers through the grass, 
Pull 'em out an' smile a smile 
Slick as his own Standard He; 
Them long fingers seemed to hold 
Somethin' precious, mebbe gold — 

Anyways, 
John D. 
Rockefeller, he 
Seemed as pleased as pleased could be. 

Seen him shake his head an' stand 
With the treasure in his hand, 
Gloatin' on it, figgerin' out 
What his find was worth, no doubt, 
Turnin' of it 'round an' 'round — 
Must 'a' been a pearl he'd found — 
Anyways, 



I 

70 McARONI BALLADS 



John D. 

Rockefeller, he 

Seemed as pleased as pleased could be. 

Snuck up closer, as I passed; 
Seen jist what it was at last 
That had tickled of him so; 
Looked an' seen it plain, but sho! 
Blamed thing wusn't much at all — 
Nothin* but a golf-game ball! 

An' yit 
John D. 
Rockefeller, he 
Seemed as pleased as pleased could be. 



McARONI BALLADS 71 



THE SIX-O'CLOCK RUSH 

COME on! the day's work's done; 
Wash up, and off we go ! 
Say, wait a bit, don't run ; 

No need to hurry so! 
Boats, subways, trolleys, trains, 

There's lots of them, you know — 
But what about those stains? 
Wash up before you go! 

Get rid of labor's grime; 

Wash up before you go! 
Soap, and a little time, 

Make hands as white as snow. 
Come, make the soapsuds foam! 

Remember what you owe 
To those who wait at home. 

Wash up before you go! 

Hands, face — aye! heart and mind, 

Wash up before you go! 
Leave business cares behind; 

In soapsuds let them flow! 



72 McARONI BALLADS 

That frown, that ugly scowl, 
Don't take that with you ! No, 

Leave that upon the tow'l — 
Wash up before you go! 



McARONI BALLADS 73 



THE CHILDLESS WOMAN 

WHEN I was but a little tot 
And wore a checkered pinafore, 
I mothered baby-dolls a lot; 

So did my playmate, Emmy Moore. 
And yet her brood of make-believes 

Was not to be compared with mine — 
In all the scenes that memory weaves 
Still fresh and fair their faces shine! 

I was the prouder mother then, 

And, likely, dreamed more dreams than 
she, 
But all my dreams are "might-have-been," 

While all of hers have come to be. 
We've both been mated many a year. 

And both our heads are growing gray, 
But childless now I linger here 

And watch her seven out at play. 

It cannot be that He who put 
The mother-yearning in my soul 

Designed forevermore to shut 

The gleaming gateway of its goal. 



74 McARONI BALLADS 

I sometimes think if, quite resigned, 
I envy not my playmate's seven, 

My dolls, transfigured, I shall find 
Within the nurseries of Heaven ! 



McARONI BALLADS 75 



IN A SLEEPER, lo A.M. 

1AZY lady, languid loiterer, 
^ Lying late in " Lower 9," 
You are apt to curse with goitre, or 

Something worse, this neck of mine, 
Rubbering, rubbering, as I do. 
Here across the aisle from you. 

We, your curious fellow-travelers, 
Left our berths long hours ago; 

And we sit here — caustic cavilers — 
Wondering why you are so slow. 

Now and then the porter, too. 

Casts an ebon frown at you. 



One thing surely very certain is — 
Aye ! as plain as any pike — 

That behind that dark green curtain is 
Some one very lady-like. 

Still I'm prophesying through 

Nothing but that dainty shoe. 



76 McARONI BALLADS 

Lazy lady! Won't you hurry now? 

Time is flying on to noon. 
It's for me to start to worry now; 

We'll be at my station soon, 
And before my journey's through 
I would like a glimpse at you. 

Stirring now? Too late! Forever, ma'am, 

Faceless, formless unto me! 
Better so, perhaps, for never, ma'am, 

Could you measure up to be 
Half so lovely to the view, 
Half the queen I fancy you I 



McARONI BALLADS 77 



DA WISA CHILD 

ALL right, I know. All right, signer; 
^ Da same old question like bayfore! 
But you are not da only frand 
Dat com' to dees peanutta stand 
An' look me een da eye an' say: 
"Com'! why no gat married, eh?" 
To-day com' wan more wise dan you, 
Dat mebbe gona halp me, too. 

Do you remembra long ago. 
Wen first you speaka to me so, 
How dat I mak' confess' to you 
Dere was two fina girls I knew, 
But dat I like dem both so wal 
Eet was too hard for me to tal 
Wheech wan be besta wife for me? 
Wan girl was Angela, and she 
Was jus' so pretta as can be; 
An' she could seeng so sweet eet mak' 
Your hearta jomp so like eet br'ak. 
But dat was all dat she could do. 
An' den dere was Carlotta, too, 



78 McARONI BALLADS 

Dat was da verra besta cook. 
But had no song or pretta look 
Like Angela, but steell was good 
For keep da house and carry wood. 
An' I was sad dat time, baycause 
I want a wife, but steell da laws 
Dey would not lat me marry two — 
So w'at da deuce I gona do? 

An' you — you had no word to say ; 
But here to me ees com* to-day 
A leetla girl, good frand o' mine, 
Dat's only eight year old, or nine, 
But verra mooch more wise dan you. 
An' w'at you s'pose she tal me do? 

" Tak' Angela ! " she say. " Why not? 
Den both of you could pay Carlof 
To carry wood an' cooka too. 
An' justa keep da house for you." 



McARONI BALLADS 79 



PITY THE POOR POET 

THE poet burns, the whole night 
through, 
His " midnight oil," to weave a few 

Fresh-fashioned stanzas, grave or gay, 
Which in the pubHc prints next day- 
May earn a word of praise from you. 

'Tis not an easy thing to do. 
When thoughts go lame and rhymes 
askew; 
So, many an imperfect lay 
The poet burns. 

Small wonder if, for cheer, he brew 
That "bracer" (this may be untrue; 
I only quote what people say) 
Which once drove carking care away 
And brought such inspiration to 
The poet Burns. 



8o McARONI BALLADS 



TO IGNACE PADEREWSKI 

("I have to speak about a country which is not yours 
in a language which is not mine." — Opening words of 
Paderewski before playing for the Polish Victims' Relief 
Fund.) 

NOT yours? The softly spoken word 
Whose simple native pathos stirred — 
As surely as the melodies 
You drew divinely from the keys — 
The deeps of every soul that heard? 

The faltering tongue, the practiced hand, 
Whichever you use, great-hearted Pole! 
You speak what all can understand — 
The Language of the Soul. 

Not ours? This land of which you tell, 
Where Kosciusko fought and fell, 
And now a tortured nation stands. 
With streaming eyes and empty hands, 
Heroic in the face of hell? 

Not yours alone this holy ground; 
Of one great whole it is a part — 
What hills, what sundering seas shall bound 
The Country of the Heart? 



McARONI BALLADS 8r 



RUBICAM ROAD 

WHERE, in all the wide world, is the 
loveliest street? 
There are milHons of roads trod by billions of 

feet. 
And the question, if asked of each traveler you 
meet. 
Will produce a reply of a different mode. 
There are many in this unregenerate day 
Who will speak for " Fifth avenue," aye, or 

" Broadway," 
But the fortunate few who are wiser will say: 
" It is Rubicam Road ! " 

O ! then sneer, if you will, and make game of 
our claim; 

Aye! and have your rude fling at the old- 
fashioned name 

And the rural aroma that clings to the same. 
Yet no beauty so rare ever glimmered and 
glowed 

From the lamps of the tall-towered towns of 
the world, 



82 McARONI BALLADS 

Upon streets where humanity jostled and 

swirled, 
As the beauty that's daily and nightly unfurled 
Over Rubicam Road. 

Here's a street of the city, yet skirting a wood 

Where the town's brazen clamors but seldom 
intrude; 

" Rus in urbe," indeed with all graces imbued 
That old Horace himself might have shrined 
in an ode ! 

For the shadows are coolest, the sun is most 
bright. 

The queen moon and the stars shed the kind- 
liest light. 

And the peace is the sweetest that droppeth at 
night 
Over Rubicam Road. 

You will never believe it, and yet it is true! 
I can prove it to you, sir — and you, sir — and 

you! 
You have only to go there and do as I do. 
You have simply to go and take up your 

abode — 



McARONI BALLADS 83 

Be the latter as humble and plain as it may — 
Where Her kiss in the morning that speeds 

you away 
Will be drawing you back, at the close of the 
day, 
Into Rubicam Road. 



84 McARON I BALLADS 



TO A BEREAVED MOTHER 

OH, say not that your little son is dead; 
The word too harsh and much too 
hopeless seems, 
Believe, instead, 

That he has left his little trundle bed 
To climb the hills 

Of morning, and to share the joy that fills 
God's pleasant land of dreams. 

Nay, say not that your little son is dead. 

It is not right, because it is not true. 
Believe, instead, 

He has but gone the way that you must tread. 
And, smiling, waits 
In loving ambush by those pearly gates, 

To laugh and leap at you. 

No knight that does you service can be dead. 
Nor idle is this young knight gone before. 



McARONI BALLADS 85 

Believe, instead, 

Upon an envoy's mission he hath sped 
That doth import 

Your greatest good; for he at heaven's court 
Is your ambassador. 



86 McARONI BALLADS 



FOR OLD LOVERS 

THE sap is bubbling in the tree, 
The pink buds herald spring. 
Yet winter holds for you and me 
One charm to which we cling. 
The April sun grows warm by noon, 

Its daylight skies are bright; 
But the cool evenings bring the boon 
Of a wood fire at night. 

The greening sod of April days 

Is lovely to the eye. 
But firmer, lovelier turf is May's 

And kindlier glows the sky. 
Let striplings to the greenwood go 

For April's chill delight. 
But we two still shall bless the glow 

Of a wood fire at night. 



McARONI BALLADS 87 



THE LOVE-SONG 

YOU often hear me speak of Joe, 
Da barber — ^Joe Baruccio? 
An' Giacomo Soldini? He 
Ees fruita merchant Hka me. 

Wal, dey are love da sama signorina. 
Dees fallow from da barber shop 
He use' for seeng weeth Granda Op', 
An' Giacomo, he ees so slow 
He was no good at all w'en Joe 

Would seeng to her an' play da mando- 
lina. 

" Maria mia ! days are long 
(So made dees fallow Joe hees song), 
Baycause dey keepa me so far 
From where you are, O ! brighta star, 

Maria mia ! " 
An'^ Giacomo, w'at could he do? 
He jus' would say w'en Joe was through : 

"Me, too, Maria!" 



McARONI BALLADS 



Dees Joe he deed not care at all. 
Wen he would go to mak' hees call, 
Eef Giacomo was also near; 
He was so proud he deed not fear 

Dat anny wan could steal dat signorina. 
Deed he not have da sweeta voice 
For mak' da female heart rejoice? 
But ah ! Maria, deed she care 
Dat annybody else was dere 

To hear heem seeng an' play da mando- 
lina? 

" Maria mia ! eet ees wrong 
(So made dees Joe wan night hees song) 
To waste your time weeth two or three 
Wen you could be alone weeth me, 

Maria mia ! " 
Poor Giacomo! w'at could he do? 
He jus' could say w'en Joe was through: 

"Me, too, Maria!" 

Maria laugh an' shak' her head ; 
Her eye ees bright, her cheek ees red. 
An' when she rise up from her chair 
An' Stan bayfore dose lovers dere. 
You nevva see so pretta signorina. 



McARONI BALLADS 89 

" We wasta time," she say, " too long; 
So now I, too, weell seeng a song; 
An' deesa song dat I weell seeng 
Eet ees so verra leetla theeng 

I weell not need at all da mandolina: 

" * Maria mia ! ' so you seeng, 
But lova-song ain't everatheeng! 
So, Joe, good-night ! But you — O ! stay, 
My Giacomo, dat jus' can say: 
'Me, too, Maria!'" 
Ah! Giacomo, w'at could he do? 
He jus' could say, w'en she was through: 
"Me? O! Maria!" 



90 McARONI BALLADS 



o 



WHEN THE MISSUS COOKS 

UR Ellen is an honest cook, though over- 
fond of salt; 

And having mentioned that I've named her 
one important fault. 

She's prompt enough with breakfast and her 
coffee's always good, 

And the Missus says she's never very waste- 
ful of the food. 

I understand her luncheons are as fine as they 
can be. 

Though, of course, that's merely hearsay, for 
they're seldom served to me. 

But though her Sunday dinner is her master- 
piece, no doubt. 

My fancy flies to Thursday, which is Ellen's 



Ah ! then the household Juno, stepping down 

to charm her Jove, 
The finest cook in all the world is at the 

kitchen stove. 



McARONI BALLADS 91 

Fve had my share of costly fare that makes 

the waistcoats swell, 
And I am one that's prone to dine not wisely, 

but too well; 
IVe sampled all the table d'hotes and a la 

cartes on earth, 
I've tasted all the banquets and I know just 

what they're worth, 
But when I yearn to stuff myself to apoplectic 

gout, 
My fancy flies to Thursday, which is Ellen's 

" avenin' " out. 



92 McARONI BALLADS 



RICHES 

IF we are poor and do not know 
, The numerous delights that flow 
From horns of plenty choked with gold, 
We lack as well the cares untold 
That hand in hand with riches go. 

We have our home wherein, although 
The outer world be white with snow, 
We keep our hearts from growing cold, 
If we are poor. 

We can't go in for pomp and show, 
But here are She and I, and O! 

That dimpled little One-year-old! 

Love's riches here are manifold. 
Dear Lord, we pray Thee keep us so. 
If we are poor. 



McARONI BALLADS 93 



SINGLE PHILOSOPHY 

ALLA time you say, "Why don't you 
marry?" 
Now, I gona speaka plain to you: 
I won't nevva marry; no, sir, nevva! 
For eet ees not healthy theeng to do. 

How I know? Signor, eet's verra seemple. 

I been single fallow all my life, 
An' so long I'm strong an' wal an' happy 

W'ata for I bother weeth a wife? 
I ain't mak' so moocha playnta money, 

Steell I gotta 'nough for all I need, 
An' I don'ta want no woman bossa 

Keeckin' at mos' evra theeng I deed. 
Eh? You theenk som' time I weesh be mar- 
ried? 

Sure ! jus' once dat weesh ees com* to me. 
Lasta month I gat som' kinda fever, 

An' I am so seeck as I can be. 
Eet ees pretta tough for single fallow 

Wen he's feelin' verra seeck een bed, 



94 McARONI BALLADS 

An' he would be glad eef som' good woman 
Lay her softa hand upon hees head. 

My! I felt so bad, signor, I tal you — 
Eet*s da truth I speak, you bat my life ! — 

Eef mos* anny woman com* an' ask me 
I would tak' her den for be my wife! 

Wat? O! no, I'm stronga now an' better — 
Eh? I am su'prise' you cannot see; 

Only w'en I'm seeck I theenk for marry, 
So eet ees not healthy thing for me. 



McARONI BALLADS 95 



THE ACE TO HIS QUEEN 

MY biplane, taking 
The faint light breaking 
Through pink clouds, foamy 
Where dawn comes creeping, 
Swings *round through Heaven, 
Times seven-times-seven — 
A heaven duller 
Of warmth and color 
Than that below me 

Where thou art sleeping! 

A sky-hung warden, 
Above thy garden, 

In circles swinging 
Times out of number, 
I await the hour 
Of dawn's full flower, 
^When, sinking nearer 
That Heaven so dearer, 

My motor's singing 
Shall break thy slumber. 



96 McARONI BALLADS 

My motor's humming 
Shall tell my coming, 

Ere thou canst even 
My form discover; 
Oh, then, my lady! 
Be up and ready. 
And, v^hile Time lingers, 
With kiss on fingers. 

Lean out from Heaven 
And pay thy lover ! 



McARONI BALLADS 97 



THE CAGED BIRD 

GIACOMO SARPATTI, lasta spreeng, 
Catcha seengin' bird upon a bush; 
Freckles on da breast an' browna wing — 
How you call een Anglaice langwadge? 
"Thrush?" 
Een Italia " tordo " ees da word; 
Eet ees verra pretta seengin' bird. 

Wal, he maka fina cage for eet, 

An' eet's een hees yard all summer long; 
Early evra morn eet seenga sweet, 

Sweeta, too, da evenings weeth eets song. 
" Ah ! " he say, " so long my bird ees seeng, 
Alia time for me eet ees da spreeng." 

" Wen da weenter com*," say Giacomo, 
" Een my warma keetchen I no care; 

I weell nevva mind da frost an* snow, 
For my bird weell maka summer dere. 

Pretta soon I gona tak' heem een; 

Jus* so soon da colda nights baygeen,** 



98 McARONI BALLADS 

But he wait, dees Giacomo, too long! 

Out dere een da yard hees bird could see 
Manny theengs dat mak* heem stop hees 
song; 

He could see all othra birds dat's free 
Flyin* down da sky eento da Sout*, 
An* dere was no music een hees mout*. 

Een da yard I see da cage to-day, 
But dere ees no bird een eet no more! 

"Wat ees dees?" I ask heem, an' he say: 
" O ! I jus' forgot to shut da door." 

W*en I laugh, he growl an' tal me : " Hal ! 

I know justa how eet feel mysal'." 



McARON I BALLADS 99 



CIDER 

LAS' night Frost wuz purt' nigh here ; 
J Seen his tracks at break o' day. 
Ole Mount Poke stands out real clear, 

Though he's eighteen mile away. 
Flapjacks tasted comfortin', 

Coffee never drunk so good; 
Sure signs winter's settin' in 

Round about this neighborhood. 
Yet this wagon I'm a-drivin' 

Down the holler, up the hill, 
Holds a load o' things thet's hivin' 

Most o' summer's honey still; 

Thar'll be two, three bar'ls to fill — 
Mebbe more — when we're arrivin* 

At the Cider Mill. 

Apples fine, but nothin' like 

Old times. Seems ter me somehow 
When I was a little tike 

They wuz plentif'ler than now; 
Sweeter, too, they wuz, them days, 

An' the new juice of 'em went 



loo McARONI BALLADS 

Slicker down my throat. Leastways 
Thar wuz somethin* different, 

Winesap, Spy, Bellflower an' Pippin, 
All as one then to my tongue ; 

Long as thar wuz honey drippin' 
From press-spout or bar'I bung 
I jes* clung an' sucked an' clung, 

Sipped an' sipped an' kept on sippin* — 
Thet's when I wuz young. 

Sweets like thet hez lost their power. 

Nowadays I often say: 
" Sweet hain't sweet until it's sour," 

Cider strikes me jest that way. 
Leastways here's a truth I hold 

From my own exper'encin' : 
'Taint new cider, but the old, 

Gits ye feelin' young agin. 
Take yer fill o* fresh juice, sonny; 

I don't want a single drop. 
But when it gits actin' " funny," 

Sizzin'-like an* bubblin' up, 

Like bees buzzin' in the cup, 
Leavin' stingers in the honey, 

Lemme have a sup ! 



McARONI BALLADS loi 



WISHES 

SOMETIMES, w*en beezaness ees bad 
An' I am sad, 
I weesh I was not born at all, 
Or dat I could be w'at-you-call 
A "domb theeng," like a stona wall; 
Dat cannot speak or see or hear, 
Or hope or fear! 

I s'pose, my frand, you nevva gat 

So bad as dat; 
I s'pose, baycause you do so wal, 
You always weesh to be yoursal*. 
You nevva say, like me, " O ! hal ! 

I am no good; I weesh I might 

Drop outa sight ! " 

Mos* times I weesh dat I could be 

Som* kind of tree ; 
For I could be alive an' steell 
Not have to work for evra meal. 
An' weenter cold I would not feel — 

An' I could mak' more pleasure, too, 

Dan now I do. 



I02 McARONI BALLADS 

All summer, cool would be da shade 

My branches made 
With greena leaves dat I would wear, 
An' birds would com' an' seenga dere. 
Den een da fall, w'en I was bare, 

I would not have to do a theeng 

But sleep teell spreeng! 



McARONI BALLADS 103 



IN PRAISE OF SCRAPPLE 

OUT upon your gibes ironic! 
You who've never known the tonic 
Toothsomeness of savory scrapple 
Dare to judge it? Well, I never! 
When no morsel of it ever 

Greased your graceless Adam's apple. 

When the northwest wind is blowing, 

Sharp enough for frost or snowing, 

And the days of muggy weather 

Have departed altogether. 

All our husbandmen are getting 

Butcher knives laid out for whetting. 

And some morning with the dawn 

Comes the porcine slaughter on. 

Let's not morbidly be dealing 

With the scuffling and the squealing. 

But, the gruesome parts deleting. 

Get us to the joys of eating. 

Well, then, when hog-killing's through 

This is what the housewives do : 



104 McARONI BALLADS 

Clean a pig's head, nicely, neatly. 

Boil till meat leaves bones completely. 

When it's cold remove all greases. 

Chop meat into Httle pieces; 

Put the liquor and the meat 

Back again upon the heat, 

Slowly stirring cornmeal in 

Till it is no longer thin. 

Pepper, salt and sage they bring 

For its proper seasoning. 

When the mess is thick and hot 

It is lifted from the pot. 

Poured then into pans to mold 

And so left until it's cold. 

So ends Chapter L 

The sequel 
Is a breakfast v^ithout equal! 

Come! it is a nippy morning, 
Frosty lace, the panes adorning, 
Takes the sun from many angles 
And the windows glow with spangles. 
From the kitchen range are rising 
Odors richly appetizing; 



McARONI BALLADS 105 

Paradise is in the skillet, 

For the scrapple slices fill it, 

And each flour-encrusted piece 

Smiling in its fragrant grease 

Takes a coat of golden tan 

From the ardor of the pan. 

Crisp and brown the outer crust, oh ! 

Food to rouse the gourmand's gusto 

From your platter gives you greeting; 

Truly this is royal eating! 

Out upon your gibes ironic! 

You whoVe never known the tonic 

Toothsomeness of savory scrapple, 
Dare to judge it? Well, I never! 
May no morsel of it ever 

Grease your graceless Adam's apple ! 



io6 McARONI BALLADS 



PLEASURES OF THE POOR 

OH, what I like's a touring car, 
A comfy, headache-curing car, 
A wholly reassuring car 

That takes you from your door, 
And whirls you through proximity 
To absolute sublimity, 
With perfect equanimity, 

A hundred miles or more; 
That whisks you through the scenery, 
Of wooded slope and greenery. 
And drops you at a beanery 

Where millionaires are fed; 
Then out into the night again 
To storm a fairy height again. 
And revel in the flight again. 

Before it's home to bed. 
Oh, then, in kneeling attitude. 
With many a pious platitude 
I raise a prayer of gratitude 

For friends more rich than L 



McARONI BALLADS 107 

Such motoring! I'll say for it 
I'm ready any day for it, 
Since I don't have to pay for it — 
The best of reasons why ! 



io8 McARONI BALLADS 



THE FAT MAN YEARNS 

THOUGH Tve had my share of the pleas- 
ure that men in a lifetime taste, 
And my chin is of double measure, and I'm 

rather thick in the waist, 
There's a joy Time cannot smother — though 

the years have laid it away — 
It was lugging the basket for mother, on the 
Saturday market day. 

On a frosty morn in December, with the holi- 
days near at hand, 

'Oh, the market that I remember was a regular 
fairyland ! 

When the boisterous winds were icy and eager 
to nip the nose. 

All the odors about were spicy, and each cab- 
bage became a rose; 

And the things that are often dull, or but com- 
monplace things to see, 

Were a perfect riot of color and light and 
beauty to me, 



McARONI BALLADS 109 

As we stopped at one or another of the stalls 

that were on our way, 
When I carried the basket for mother on the 

Saturday market day. 

Oh! I didn't growl at the number or weight 

of the things I bore, 
For I knew that I'd soon encumber my ribs 

with their share — or more; 
That the sausage and sirloin and scrapple and 

other rich morsels would throng 
On the heels of the juicy red apple I munched 

as I shuffled along. 
But if now I could once be repeating that 

long-vanished journey of joy — 
Though I'm fond, just as fond of good eating 

as ever I was as a boy — 
I would let my old appetite smother, and take 

but a kiss for my pay. 
Could I carry the basket for mother on next 

Saturday market day! 



no McARONI BALLADS 



DA LEETLA DOCTOR 

W'EN I am beeg," says he — 
Dat leetla keed of mine — 
" Gran' doctor I weell be, 

An' Oh, so smart an' fine 
You weell be proud of me; 
Wen I am beeg," says he. 

" You beeg enough," she say — 
Hees madre, dat's my wife — 

"I like you deesa way; 
Eef only all your life 

Like deesa you could stay! 

You beeg enough," she say. 

" You are too beeg," I cry. 

" You crowd your madre's heart, 
Eef you grow more, oh my ! 

You bust eet all apart! 
No room dere now have I; 
You are too beeg," I cry. 



McARONI BALLADS iii 

" Wen I am beeg," says he, 

" I feex all dat for you. 
Eef hearts can bust, you see 

Dey can be menda, too! 
Gran* doctor I weell be 
Wen I am beeg," says he. 



112 McARONI BALLADS 



A SONG FOR NOVEMBER 

A GRAY old hag, in cloak and hood 
. Of somber gray, 
Gleaning gray twigs and bits of wood 

At close of day, 
November creeps across the land.. 
Yet magic gifts are in her hand — 
Her fagots cold need but a spark 

And hearth-stone room, 
And warmth of June from out the dark 
Will burst to bloom. 

Of foster-mothers tenderest, 

Close-harboring 
Earth's sleeping seeds within her breast 

Until the spring. 
Let gray November clasp the land. 
Yet from her lean but kindly hand 

Let us, dear heart, her fagots take, 
And on this stone 

A warm and cheery June-time make; 
Our own, our own ! 



McARONI BALLADS 113 



TO A SANDWICHMAN 

IN languid, after-luncheon mood, 
To-day I watched you in the throng. 
My mild, appraising eye pursued 
The crude incitements unto food 
Upon the signs you bore along. 

" Big Oyster Stews " and '* Six Large 
Raw" 

And " Pepper-hash and Crackers Free " 
Upon your swaying signs I saw, 
And marveled that your drooping jaw 

So lean and lantern-like should be. 

Ah ! brother, when the evening bell 
Rings curfew to this toil of thine, 
I hope one stew, warm, rich of smell 
And grateful to the tongue, may dwell 
Betwixt thy wishbone and thy spine! 



114 McARONI BALLADS 



FIRESIDE DREAMS 

AN old colonial fire-place! 
XJL What memories cling around it! 
Such quaint carved frame, such hallowed 

stone, 
I'd often dreamed that I might own, 
And now at last IVe found it. 

It graced a sporting squire's hall — 
Those pegs once held his rifle — 
Long years before the sordid clown. 
Who bought the mansion, tore it down 
And sold this for a trifle. 

He was, in truth, a sordid wretch 

This clod who took my money. 
" I wonder why folks get so daft 
About such junk," he said and laughed, 
As though he thought it funny. 

Poor wretch, indeed ! What soul had he 
To conjure up the spirit 



McARONI BALLADS 115 

Of kindly cheer and olden grace 
That once endowed that fire-place, 
And still is hovering near it? 

But I, who've starved in rented flats, 

How could I help but love it? 
And so IVe stored my prize away 
Against the coming of that day 
When I'll be master of it. 

And you, my friends, you, too, shall bless 

The happy day I found it, 
For I'll invite you all to call 
As soon as I've the wherewithal 

To build a house around it. 



ii6 McARONI BALLADS 



SINCE PATSY SHAY'S A SCOUT 

1USETER run wit' Patsy Shay 
Wen him an' I wuz small, 
But since he's got religion, say! 

He's proud as hellenall! 
Dey wuz a time w'en him an' I 

Wuz twins in dese here scenes, 
An' useter rob, an' cuss, an' lie, 

Like reg'lar human bein's. 
W'en him an' I wuz nine or so 

We owned de world, we did. 
But den somebody had ter go 

An' spoil de bloomin' kid; 
An' now he never chums wit' me 

Or shows up hereabout — 
Oh, things ain't like dey useter be 

Since Patsy Shay's a scout. 

Four years ago, w'en we wuz eight. 

We up an' run away. 
An' watched a chanct ter hop a freight 

Ter see de U. S. A. 



McARONI BALLADS 117 

We made it up ter go out West — 

Where bears an' cowboys grew 
An' Indians an' all the rest — 

An' we'd of done it, too; 
But some one must of told a cop 

About our little game, 
Because he come an' made us stop — 

Gee! Wuzn' 'at a shame? 
We said w'en we wuz twelve we meant 

Ter go, wit'out a doubt, 
But now de time has came an' went — 

An' Patsy Shay's a scout! 

I seen dis Patsy yisterd'y, 

A-marchin' past our court. 
An' hully chee! he seemed ter be 

A reg'lar Christian sport. 
A soldier hat wuz on 'is bean, 

An' big shoes on 'is feet 
An' all de fixin's in between 

Wuz fancy an' complete; 
A kid's-size suit o' army clo'es, 

A watch stuck on 'is wrist, 
A hankercher ter blow 'is nose — 

Oh, nothin' wuzn' missed. 



ii8 McARONI BALLADS 

He useter be my chum, but, say, 
De worl's toined inside out, 

An* now he seems so fur away 
Since Patsy Shay's a scout. 

I wouldn' mind if some one come 

An' made me Christian, too. 
Dis Hfe I lead is purty bum; 

I'm game fur som'pin new. 
I hear dese guys is out fur coin, 

An' if dey raise enough 
I guess a lot o' kids will join 

Dat onct wuz mighty tough. 
I ain't a-sayin' I'll be one; 

I'm twelve years old, yer see. 
An' I ain't on'y jist begun 

To feel me oats, b'chee! 
But if dey git some coin to spend 

An' want ter fit me out, 
I'll try ter be deir little friend — 

Since Patsy Shay's a scout. 



McARONI BALLADS 119 



FORTISSIMO 

MY frand, you have been kind 
To me een manny way. 
You tal me I weell find 

Da gooda wife som' day; 
" Som' girl weell com* along," 

You say, " an' smile on you — 
Dat's her! " But som'theeng's wrong; 
Eet ain'ta comin' true. 

I am afraid I need 

Som' othra kind of sign 
Dat I can easy read 

An* know da girl ees mine. 
Eef only dere would be 

Som' seemple kind of treeck 
For know she's mash weeth me 

I sure would grab her queeck ! 

Eh? Sure, you bat my life ! 

Dere's som' have smiled; but w'en 
I ask: "You be my wife?" 

Dey start to smile agen. 



I20 McARONI BALLADS 

You theenk dat pleasa me 
An' mak' me glad an' proud? 

Ah! no, my frand; you see, 
Dey smile too blama loud! 



McARONI BALLADS 121 



APPLYING THE SERMON 

"y^ THE pastor'd a sermon was splendid 
V-/ this mornin'," 

Said Nora O'Hare, 
" But there's some in the parish that must 
have had warnin' 

An' worshiped elsewhere; 
But wherever they were, if their ears wasn't 
burnin'. 

Troth, then, it is quare ! " 

" * There are women,' sez he, * an' they're here 
in this parish. 

An' plentiful, too, 
Wid their noses so high an' their manners 
so airish. 

But virtues so few 
'Tis a wonder they can't see how much they 
resemble 

The proud Pharisee. 
Ye would think they*d look into their own 
souls an' tremble 

Such sinners to be. 



122 McARONI BALLADS 

Not at all! They believe themselves better 
than others. 

An' give themselves airs 
Till the pride o' them strangles all virtues, 
an' smothers 

The good o' their prayers.' 



"That's the w^ay he wint at them, an', faith, 
it was splendid — 

But v^asted, I fear, 
Wid the most o' the women for whom 'twas 
intended, 

Not there for to hear. 
An' thinks I to meself, walkin' home, what 
a pity 

That Mary Ann Hayes 
An' Cordelia McCann should be out o' the 
city 

This day of all days. 



"But, indeed, 'twas a glorious sermon this 
mornin'," 

Said Nora O'Hare, 



McARONI BALLADS 123 

" Though Fm sorry that some o' the parish 
had warnin' 

An' worshiped elsewhere; 
But wherever they were, if their ears wasn't 
burning 

Troth, then, it is quare ! " 



124 McARONI BALLADS 



ALONG THE WISSAHICKON 

THE red and gold and silver haze 
Of early Indian summer days 
Along the Wissahickon! 
Dan Cupid, could there ever be 
A likelier place on land or sea 
Wherein to plan your Arcady 

And let your love plots thicken? 
There earliest stirred the feet of spring, 
There summer dreamed on drowsy wing! 
And autumn's glories longest cling 
Along the Wissahickon. 

On winter nights ghost-music plays 
(The bells of long-forgotten sleighs) 

Along the Wissahickon, 
And many a silver-headed wight 
Who drove that pleasant road by night 
Sighs now for his old appetite 

For waffles hot and chicken. 
And grandmas now, who then were belles? 



McARONI BALLADS 125 

How many a placid bosom swells 
At thought of love's old charms and spells 
Along the Wissahickon. 

You, Gloriana, you who know 
The word, low spoken long ago. 

Along the Wissahickon, 
The word that was the golden key 
To ope the gates of Arcady 
For one man. Come ! and walk with me 

Where sweetest memories quicken, 
That once again the charms that brood 
Through all the sylvan solitude 
May bless the wooer and the wooed — 

Along the Wissahickon. 



126 McARONI BALLADS 



DA POSTA-CARD FROM NAPOLI 

SO, you gon' sail for Italy? 
Ah, fine! — Wat can you do for me? 
Oh, notheeng, please; I don'ta care — 
I weesh you joy while you are dere, 
An' I'll be glad for see you w'en 
Da sheep ees breeng you home agen — 
Eh? No! Oh, please don't sand to me 
No peecture-card from Napoli! 

Oh, yes, wan time da letter-man 
Breeng soocha card to deesa stan'; 
Eet was from gentleman like you 
Dat wanted to be kinda, too. 
Eet showed da town, da bay — but, oh, 
I deed not need; so wal I know! 
Ah! no, please don'ta sand to me 
No peecture-card from Napoli. 

Oh, wal, Signor, you are so kind. 

So good to me, I would no mind 

Eef you would send me wan from Rome. 

Eh? Rome? No, dat ees not my home. 



McARONI BALLADS 127 

Deed I not joost esplain to you 
I weell no care w'at else you do 
So long you don'ta sand to me 
No peecture-card from Napoli? 



128 McARONI BALLADS 

SONG OF THE SCUTTLE 

(After Eugene Field) 

OH, ye who are fond of music (and some 
of you may recall 
Field's " clink of the ice in the pitcher the boy 

brings up the hall "), 
I challenge ye all to name me a song of a 

rarer tone 
Than here in my cozy kitcHen I know for my 

very own. 
I grant you your harps or fiddles, your sym- 
phony bands or jazz. 
Or the latest vocahzation that Gluck or Mc- 

Cormack has; 
You may take 'em for me and welcome, for 

nothing on earth compares 
With the rattle of coal in the scuttle that Mom 

drags up the stairs! 

A helpless creature is Mother. She bothers 

me quite a bit 
And routs me out of the comfy chair in the 

kitchen where I sit 



McARONI BALLADS 129 

To get her the tallow candle from its place 

on the cellarway shelf — 
For Mother is thin and little and couldn't 

reach it herself — 
And then there's the trouble to light it. But 

when that trick is done 
And I settle back by the fire the reward of 

my labor's won, 
For up from the depths of the cellar ascends 

the sweetest of airs — 
'Tis the rattle of coal in the scuttle that Mom 

drags up the stairs. 

The bucket in which she gathers the nuggets 

that may be found 
Along the tracks of the Reading emits but a 

wooden sound, 
And her day-long comings and goings I 

scarcely notice at all 
For her feet in wrappings of burlap go softly 

along the hall; 
But when in the winter twilight arises a 

treble clear 
It stirs me here in my corner to cock up a 

drowsy ear 



130 McARONI BALLADS 

To catch the deHghtful music so soothing to 

all my cares — 
The rattle of coal in the scuttle that Mom 

drags up the stairs. 

Time was, when the carbon nuggets were 

easy to get and keep, 
The song of the brimful scuttle had a bass 

note full and deep. 
But then Mom handled a shovel instead of 

a tablespoon, 
And now there's a dwindling treble in the 

half-filled scuttle's tune. 
Yet here by the kitchen fire, I dare you to 

name me a song 
To play on my tender emotions and get to 

me half so strong 
As the one that finds me drowsing, sprawled 

out on the kitchen chairs — 
The rattle of coal in the scuttle that Mom 

drags up the stairs. 



McARONI BALLADS 131 



IN FRANCE 

Sergeant Mack: 

WE'RE done wid the thransport. Thank 
Heaven we're here! 
But wid all the sea-trampin' weVe lately- 
been havin', 
Sure the feet on the end o' me pins are still 
queer, 
An' I feel like a mule wid the string-halt 
an' spavin. 
An' the scenes at the dock! Such a mur- 
therin' clatter; 
There was ructions enough to be raisin' 
the dead ! 
I was proud of our outfit, but what was the 
matter 
Wid Pete Malatest'? Was he out of his 
head? 

^ Corporal Jlroni: 

Oh, Sarj', eet was funny. You know w*en 
we Ian' 
An' our fallows was movin' deir theengs 
on da dock. 



132 McARONI BALLADS 

We was watchin* dat smart engineer capitan 
Dat was bossin' da gang weeth da tackle 
an' block. 
Malatest' he was wan dat was peecked for 
dat job, 
An' I know he was tryin' for doin' hees 
best, 
But you see he ees clumsiest kind of a slob. 
An' he alia time got een da way of da 
rest. 
Den dat smart engineer, dat's so quiet bay- 
fore. 
He joosta start een an' he swear lika hal. 
An' dees Pete Malatest', w'en de capitan 
swore. 
He looked een hees face an' he lat out a 
yal; 
An' he put hees two ban's on da capitan's 
chest, 
An' he smiled weetha joy. Den I hearda 
heem say: 
"You are Meester Jeem Newell, I worked 
weeth out West; 
I joost deed not know teell you swore dat 
ole way; 



McARONI BALLADS 133 

But so soon as you deed I was sure eet was 

you, 
For I worked weetha you on da P. D. & Q ! " 
Dey was railaroad men in Wyoming, you see ! 
An' da capitan, too, was so pleased as could be, 
An' he shooka Pete's han'; an' Pete looka 

so please' 
I thought he was sure gona geeve heem a 

keess. 
But he said : " Eet was joosta like home w'en 

you swore — 
Oh, Meester Jeem Newell, please do eet som' 

more ! " 



134 McARONI BALLADS 



A 



THE TREASURE BOX 

H! here's the box! And there's his 
baby shoe; 
And there his Uttle christening robe and 
cap! 
I mind that springtime Sunday long ago 
They brought him back and laid him in 
my lap. 

He was a stirring youngster, and his feet 
Outgrew no shoes that weren't first out- 
worn. 
I mind that day he ran out in the street, 
And it a bare twelve months since he was 
born. 

*Twas flags was in it then, and fifes and 
drums ; 
A passing band of lads that fought with 
Spain. 
Flags always called him so. * * * How 
plainly comes 
My last sight of him marching to the train ! 



McARONI BALLADS 135 

And here's the box, with all his baby things; 

And here's another treasure it must hold — 
The last flag and his own! The flag that 
brings 

His glory home! O little star of gold! 



136 McARONI BALLADS 

DA VOICE DA GERMANS MEESSED 

GIUSEPPE SCALABRELLA ees re- 
turna from da war, 
An' soocha happy Dagoman you nevva see 

bayfore. 
He tooka playnta hands weeth heem w*en 

first he start away, 
But he ees only gotta wan for workin* weeth 

to-day. 
He walked upon a coupla legs bayfore da war 

began, 
But now he's gotta crutcha-steeck for tak* 

da place of wan. 
Giuseppe Scalabrella ees so glad as he can 

be; 
You oughta hear da happy songs dat he ees 

seeng for me. 

Giuseppe was a laborman dat use' for deeg 

da tranch 
Bayfore he go weeth Oncla Sam for halp to 

save da French; 



McARONI BALLADS 137 

He was wan fina laborman bayfore he went 

to war, 
But now he sure ees nevva gona deega tranch 

no more. 
You theenk dat dees would mak' heem joost 

so sad as he could be — 
But you should hear da happy songs dat he 

ees seeng for me. 

He nevva chirped bayfore, but now he don*ta 

do a theeng 
But seet aroun' da house an' seeng, an' seeng, 

an' seeng, an' seeng! 
" I tal you, Tony, how eet ees," he say to me 

to-day ; 
" Da firsta battle I am een dey shoot my hand 

away ; 
An' w'en I was een hospital da time eet was 

so long, 
I could no read, an' so you see I busted eento 

song. 
I don'ta know da way eet com', but eet's so 

easy — See? " 
An' den you should a hear da happy songs 

he seeng for me! 



138 McARONI BALLADS 

" Wen I am wal agen," he say, " dey said I 

could no fight. 
But steell I went for more — an' dat's da time 

I got eet right! 
Dey shoot me een da lefta leg — an look da 

way I am. 
But all da time een hospital I seeng my songs, 

by dam ! 
An' evrabody com' an' say : * How wondra- 

fuleeshe!'" 
An' den you shoulda hear da happy songs 

he seeng for me. 

"An' joost bayfore dey sand me home, my 

capitan he said: 
* I s'pose you theenk da way you're treemmed 

you might as wal be dead. 
But Oncla Sam ees feex eet so he gona find 

a trade 
For evra crippled soldier, so you need no be 

afraid ; 
You no can deeg da tranch no more, but steell 

you should rayjoice 
Baycause dose damma Germans deed no 

shoot you een da voice ! * 



McARONI BALLADS 139 

Da 'Merican Caruso now, you see, I gona 

be!" 
An* den you shoulda hear da happy songs he 

seeng for me. 



I40 McARONI BALLADS 



ROSA'S CURIOSITY 

MY frand, you like for buy a hat? 
Fine greena seelka wan I gat, 
Weeth redda, whita feathah een. 
So styleesh hat you nevva seen! 
Eh? No? Too bad! for eef you do, 
I sal eet pretta cheap to you. 
Where deed I gat? Wal, eef you pleass, 
I tal to you. Ees lika dees: 

My Rosa — dat's my girl, you know — 

She alia time ees tease me so 

An* aska dees an* dat, for try 

An' guess w'at prasant I am buy 

For geeve to her on Chrees'mas Day; 

But alia time I laugh an' say: 

" No ! No ! eet ees su'prise for you, 

An' eet ees gona pleass you, too. 

I have eet bought an' put away 

For keep for you teell Chrees'mas Day." 

She stamp da foot an' say : " O ! my. 

You tease me so you mak' me cry. 



McARONI BALLADS 141 

You are so mean as you can be 

Baycause you weell no tal to me." 

My frand, she coax so lika dat 

At las' I say: " Eet eesa hat! " 

O ! den, my frand, for sure she cry, 

An* look so sad an' say : " O ! why 

You tal me w'at eet gona be? 

I want eet be su'prise for me. 

You just are wan beeg, seelly theeng — 

Baysides, I theenk eet be a reeng." 

Ha! w'at you theenka dat, my frand? 

Dese girls ees hard for ondrastand. 

So, queeck I say: " Eet ees no true; 

I justa maka joke weeth you." 

So now, you see, I musta gat 

A reeng eenstead for deesa hat; 

An' den, how mooch she coax an' tease, 

I weell no tal her w'at eet ees. 

But here ees steell da hat! O! pleass. 

My frand, eef eet should be you meet 

Sopi'body walkin' on da street 

Dat look for buy da styleesh hat, 

I have da cheap wan he can gat. 



142 McARONI BALLADS 



IN PRAISE OF ST. STEPHEN 

HERE'S the feast o' St. Stephen, 
This Christmas Day's morrow. 
An' it's past all believin' 
The comfort I borrow 

At the thought of him there 
In the cold mornin' air, 
An' meself steppin' back to a world full o' 
sorrow. 

For with all the soft beauty 

O' Christmas behind ye. 
When it's back to cold duty 
Tliis day has consigned ye, 

Faith, there's need of the aid 
Of a saint unafraid 
To withstand the blue devils that's likely to 
find ye. 

Tall and bright is the miter 

O' Stephen, the martyr; 
A knight and a fighter 

By Christ the Lord's charter. 



McARONI BALLADS 143 

And it's well if ye stand 
Within touch of his hand 
In a world that is given to traffic and barter. 

Lucky you, if ye're wearin' 
This sainf s nomenclature, 
For, belike, ye'll be sharin' 
His valorous nature; 

For there's none of his name 
In the pages o* fame 
That was anything less than a two-fisted 
crayture. 

So upon this gray mornin'. 

In hope o' receivin' 
His good help in the scornin', 
O* groanin* and grievin'. 

Here's the ballad I raise 
In the merited praise 
Of the worshipful martyr and fighter, St. 
, Stephen! 



144 McARONI BALLADS 



DA PUP EEN DA SNOW 

DEED you evra see Joy 
Gona wild weeth delight, 
Jus* so lika small boy 
Wen som' brighta new toy 

Mak's heem crazy excite'? 
You would know w'at I mean 
Eef you jus' coulda seen — 

Not so long time ago — 
How my leetla fat pup 

Ees first play een da snow. 

O ! I scream an' I roar 

An' so shaka weeth laughtra, 
Dat my sides dey are sore 

For mos' three-four days aftra. 
An' how mooch I would try, 

I no speak weeth sooch skeell 
I could put een your eye 

W'at ees fresh een mine steel! : 
How dat leetla pup romp 

All aroun' da whole place, 



McARONI BALLADS 145 

How he bark, how he jomp 

An' fall down on hees face; 
How he fight, how he bite 

An' ees tumble aroun', 
Teell hees cover' weeth white 

Lik a leetla fat clown; 
Wat su'prise fill hees eyes 

Wen he see da flakes sail, 
How he bark at da skies, 

How he chasa hees tail. 

O! I weesh I could show 

How ees looka, dat pup, 
How he puff an' he blow 
Wen hees leecked by da snow 

An' ees gotta geeve up. 
An' I sposa, no doubt. 

You would say I am fibbin* 
Wen I say hees tongue's out 

Lika yarda peenk ribbon — 
O! how mooch I would try, 

I no speak weeth sooch skeell 
I could put een your eye 

Wat's so fresh een mine steell. 



146 McARONI BALLADS 

But I weesh you had been 
Where you, too, coulda seen 

Wat delighta me so — 
How my leetla fat pup 

Ees first play een da snow! 



McARONI BALLADS 147 



TO AN AUTHOR 

1AST night at last I found a chance 
^ To dip into your new romance. 
The night was wild without, but fair 
This valley of my easy chair; 
As, with your book, I settled there 
Before the cheery grate, 
The clock struck eight 

I read the opening chapter through. 
And after that I never knew — 
Nor cared, indeed — how fared the night 
Beyond those borders of delight 
Wherein my spirit winged its flight; 
For other ears, not mine, 
The clock struck nine. 

The while your book was in my hands 
My soul sojourned in other lands, 
But then, ah ! then — I cannot tell 
Just what it was that broke the spell. 
Perhaps it was the book that fell — 
I woke, and, sakes alive! 
The clock struck five. 



148 McARONI BALLADS 



ONE OF US 

HE comes again ! His roug-h-shod feet 
Familiar here, in field and street, 
Have led him back to tread once more 
The paths he knew before the war. 
The tasks that he takes up again 
Are humble now, as they were then; 
But, look you! on his swarthy brow 
There shines a new-won glory now. 
He craves no favor, makes no plea, 
But this his proper speech might be: 

" I speak not Anglaice verra wal ; 
But while I was away, een Hal, 
I deed som' leetla theeng or two 
Dat made me mooch more lika you. 
Dere was a time you call me * Wop.' 
But now I ask you, please, to stop. 
My tongue ees Wop, but — God be thank' ! — 
My hands an* heart an' soul ees Yank! " 



McARONI BALLADS 149 



TO A RICH MAN 

WHAT worries me and makes me blue 
May seem a little thing to you; 
But then, you see, you have a lot 
Of cash and bonds, perhaps a yacht — 
Your bills are paid, but mine are due. 

You say you have your troubles, too; 
A jaded heart, a jaundiced view 
Of life? Thank heaven that is not 
What worries me! 

My heart trips light, my wife's beats true; 

We pluck life's roses, not its rue. 

And so when next you ask me what 
My worries are, what cares Tve got, 

I'll answer you with courage new: 
"What? Worries? Me?!" 



